


The Sweetest Thing

by CaptainRilee



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot, compensating for the terror i feel about this season, screams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 12:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRilee/pseuds/CaptainRilee
Summary: "Killing is the sweetest thing there is..."A little bird sees the truth in a hound's lesson.





	The Sweetest Thing

“You were right.” Her voice was clear, as if continuing a conversation.

He scoffed. “Don’t sound so fucking surprised,” he grunted, “About what?”

 Her face was bland and calm, utterly unfazed by his language, “Did I ever tell you how Ramsay Bolton died?”

He stilled at her words, wary of her apparent change of subject. They had rarely been alone in the interim of time back at Winterfell. There were too many preparations, and their time was short enough as it was. But when he had delivered a new missive from the Maester she had bid him sit down, poured wine and now they sat across from each other, silent until this moment. 

She spoke again, “I killed him with his own hounds.” The firelight was lovely on her face, but the hard edge of her voice surprised him the most. The flat coldness, dead casual. She blinked into the firelight. “Jon beat him senseless—bashed his face in with a shield twice a dozen times...but I killed him. Insisted. I had to... _wanted_ to.”

He could picture it well—he’s rather impressed the King in the North had been able to stop. Did Snow know of the nightmares? The scars across the plains of her skin?

“Ramsay had starved them for the battle...even as he sat there, he was convinced of their loyalty.”

He’d seen that same arrogance before. Ramsay was just another Joffrey, willful and self-satisfied or Cersei, vengeful and cruel. They picked up usefulness like a sponge, wringing it for every drop and tossing it to the flames when it was bone dry.

She met his gaze. It was only years of seeing those same eyes in the mirror that kept him from flinching.  

“I knew better,” she explained, “Kick a hound hard enough, starve him long enough...and he’ll rip out your throat. 

“I didn’t even watch—” She pushed out the words like she was speaking a foreign tongue, concerned that their meaning would be lost in the voicing of the letters, “I just left him trussed up in that chair. I heard the snarling, the snapping, the screams, obviously…”

She was leaning towards him, earnest and somehow disoriented, as if she had walked into the room and forgotten her purpose for entering it in the first place. “It was music.” Her voice was a breathless whisper. “It was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard.”

“Little bird,” he said, or started to because she beat him to it.

“Don’t, I’m not a little bird, not anymore. Not for a long time now.”

“My lady—” he tried again, but she laughed hollow.

“I’m no lady. Winterfell is no longer mine. I don’t belong anywhere.”

“ _Sansa_ ,” he snarled, forcing her gaze on him, “No one will ever touch you again. Do you understand? Never again, unless you wish it.”

Her breathing was harsh and hung heavy in her chest, “And if I do wish it?”

He lifted his chin, but did not turn away, did not break her gaze.

She pressed on, “What then?”

“I am yours to command.”

Every line of her body stiffened with steel, “I do not wish to command you. Never. Not with this.”

“Then ask me.”

Suddenly she had no breath at all. He eyed her thoughtfully, like a hunter sizing up his game. He stood slowly, only to draw closer to her, kneel before her like some highborn cunt from one of her old songs.

He didn’t fucking care.

Even with her height, even with him kneeling, he still managed to loom over her. He reached out, crooking his fingers beneath her chin to face him, “Ask me, little bird.”

Her eyes roamed his face, as if pulling every mark, eyelash and scar to her memory.

“Please,” she whispered. 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Dabbling in this pairing has been less a labor of love and more of a full scale category 4 hurricane of creativity. 
> 
> If you think I'm on to something, leave me kudos or some love. The joy it brings with hopefully outweigh the utter devastation that this final season will undoubtedly bring.


End file.
